


In Who We Are and What We Fake

by turps



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the movie <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0240890/">Serendipity</a>. An AU about summer, friendship and fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Who We Are and What We Fake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dancinbutterfly
> 
> Thanks go to Themoononastick, Clumsygyrl, Chalcopyrite and Undeny for looking this over. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Mikey's standing in the dark between the bunks, using his thumbnail to scrape off some crusted _something_ from his jeans when Gerard jerks back the curtain of his bunk, his mouth curved into an unhappy line as he says, "The fuck? It's the middle of the night."

Standing up straight, Mikey shrugs one shoulder as he tugs at the edge of his hat, ensuring that it's sitting perfectly.

"Mikey," Gerard says again, frowning under the tangled mess of his hair. "You're never up this early."

Mikey looks at the clothes that he's thrown to the bottom of his mattress, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wonders about changing back into his Smiths t-shirt, even if it does have ketchup spilled down the front. Undecided, he's got one hand on the pile when Gerard suddenly pokes him in the side -- hard.

"You're waking everyone up," Gerard says and Mikey's t-shirt is pulled tight across his belly as he's suddenly tugged back. Caught off guard, Mikey falls ass-first into Gerard's bunk, the curtain getting trapped under his body and ripping from two rings.

Hunched over, his thighs digging against the edge of the bunk, Mikey pulls up his legs and rolls onto his side so he's facing Gerard. "The fuck?"

"You were clattering around. Before midday." Gerard's eyes are still half-closed and flakes of liner are scattered on his cheeks. He yawns, making no attempt to cover his mouth. "It's not natural."

Mikey rests his head on Gerard's pillow; it's still warm, and slightly greasy against Mikey's cheek. It's comforting, familiar. "Pete sent me a text."

Gerard blinks hard as if fighting off sleep. "Pete's texted you every day this tour."

"It's his last day," Mikey says. "Last days are special. Like the last day of school where you get to goof off."

"So you're going to spend the day goofing off with Pete?"

"Something like that." Mikey jabs at Gerard's arm in a delayed retaliation and then slides out of the bunk. He adjusts his hat, tucking some hair under the brim. "I'll be back for the show."

"'Kay," Gerard says, his eyes sliding closed as he wiggles his fingers at Mikey.

Mikey makes his way toward the front of the bus. All the windows are covered and the lounge is dim apart from a beam of light that shines from under a curtain pushed up by someone's hoodie. Mikey steps over the beam and opens the door.

"Mikey Way." It's no surprise that Pete's waiting. He's sitting on the grass, legs crossed and holding a Popsicle that's melting over his hand. There's a cup of coffee at his side -- coffee in a real mug, one with flowers around the rim. Pete grins and holds the Popsicle toward Mikey. "I brought you breakfast."

Mikey jumps down the last step, squinting a little in spite of his over-sized sunglasses. Even though it's so early it's already hot and the grass is brittle under Mikey's feet as he makes his way to Pete. Lowering himself down Mikey mimics Pete's pose, their knees touching as he takes the Popsicle, sucking off the drips before biting off the end and giving it back to Pete. "Thank you."

Pete grins, says, "Cheater. You're not supposed to bite."

Mikey crunches ice between his teeth as he picks up the flower print mug and takes a long drink. The coffee is hot and he enjoys the warmth that flows over his frozen mouth. "You get more if you bite."

"So I've heard," Pete says, his eyes gleaming as he sucks at the Popsicle, his cheeks hollowing as he reaches back and grabs a crumpled brown bag. "I bought something."

Mikey's mouth tastes like strawberry and coffee and he can feel sweat beginning to bead at his neck. Taking the half-eaten Popsicle from Pete he says, "As long as it doesn't include public nudity I'm in."

"Public nudity is a liberating thing." Pete's got his head tilted forward as he looks in the bag but Mikey can see the edge of his smile and the way Pete's cheeks are rounded. It makes Mikey want to reach out and touch, press his fingers in the dip at the corner of Pete's mouth. Pete looks up, his smile widening as he looks directly at Mikey. "You should try it one day."

"How about I don't," Mikey says and bites off the rest of the Popsicle. Dropping the stick inside the empty coffee mug he watches as Pete reveals a plastic bag full of firecrackers, each one shaped like a mini-bomb.

Pete tugs at the plastic with his teeth and takes out a firecracker, holding it by the fuse. "I've been saving them for a special occasion."

"Ending your tour with a bang," Mikey says softly, taking the firecracker from Pete. It feels solid in his hand, the outside covered in black paper that crinkles under Mikey's fingers. He looks at the buses that surround them, each one silent and full of sleeping people, knowing Pete's plans before he even says the words. "Hide or run?"

"Hide," Pete says immediately, clutching the rest of the firecrackers. "It's not as much fun if you don't see the reaction."

Mikey nods and eyes his own bus. If he was smart they'd start elsewhere, away from Bob who fiercely guards his sleep and Ray who was up until the early hours chasing an elusive melody. This time Mikey doesn't want to be smart. It's hot and still and Pete is _just there_, his zest for life contagious. Right now Mikey wants to shatter the silence, laugh with Pete, the two of them against the world on this last day together. He reaches out and brushes his hand against Pete's. "The window to our bathroom is open."

"Risky," Pete says, and gets to his feet in one easy movement. "I like it."

Mikey stands too, side by side with Pete as they look at the bus. The easy thing to do would be to open the door and throw in the firecracker, but today isn't meant for easy. Today is meant for laughter and adventure. Mikey points at the open window that leads to the bathroom. "In there."

The window is high up the side of the bus, well out of reaching range. Pete tilts his head to the side, then nods, says, "You can stand on my back."

Mikey considers, imagining Pete on hands and knees, but even with that extra boost he knows he won't be able to reach. "It won't be enough; you should get on my shoulders."

Pete grins, says, "Works for me."

If he'd been asked Mikey would have said giving a shoulder carry was easy. He's got vague memories of being carried that way by Gerard when they were kids, how Gerard always felt solid and safe as he staggered around the room pretending to be a raging dragon. In reality giving a shoulder carry is hard. Crouched over, Mikey tries to stay still as Pete wraps his legs around Mikey's head and clutches onto his neck. It's not the most comfortable position ever, already Mikey's back is twinging and Pete's sneakers are digging in, his jeans rubbing against Mikey's jaw, but despite all that Mikey can't help laughing as he tries to straighten.

"Up, Mikey Way, up!" Pete says, urging Mikey on. "You can do it!"

Mikey isn't so sure, Pete's not heavy but he is awkward, unable to stay still until finally Mikey's standing upright. He crosses his arms over Pete's legs and takes a step forward. "Ready to engage in battle?"

"Weapons locked and loaded," Pete says, and swings one of the firecrackers in front of Mikey's face. "Target in sight, approach at will."

Staggering a little, Mikey creeps forward until they're close to the bus. Standing sideways, he looks up, watching the flare of flame as Pete lights the fuse of the firecracker and says quietly, "Firing in three, two, one, go," and then drops it through the window. At first nothing happens, anticipation making Mikey's skin prickle as he waits. Then there's an explosive bang and a puff of smoke curls from the window. Pete laughs with delight as he wiggles to the ground, grabbing for Mikey's hand. "Retreat. Retreat. Go!"

They go, running full speed to the next bus, and as one, roll underneath and hide behind the tire. Panting slightly, Mikey watches white smoke billow against the bright blue sky and can't help his laughter when he hears Bob shout and sees Frank jerk back one of the lounge curtains, his hair standing up on one side and frowning as he looks around.

"That was sweet." Pete rolls even closer, so much so that Mikey can feel his body move with silent laughter. "Did you hear Bob? He sounded mad."

"He is mad," Mikey says when Bob explodes out of the bus in a back-to-front t-shirt, cargo shorts and bare feet. "I think we should…." Mikey stops talking when Bob suddenly looks their way before sprinting forward. "Go go go!"

Scrambling back, they roll from under the bus and get to their feet, beginning to run then speeding up at Bob's yells. They dodge trash cans and the few people who are up this early and Mikey's still laughing when they finally skid to a stop, hidden behind the flimsy tarpaulin of a merch tent.

Pete's bent forward, his hands on his knees as he grins up at Mikey. "I think we've lost him."

"He'll remember though," Mikey says, but even the thought of Bob's inevitable revenge isn't enough to stop his smile. He feels happy, alive in a way that feels new. It's why Mikey reaches into Pete's pocket and tugs out another firecracker. "Want to do it again?"

"You know it," Pete says, his grin getting even wider.

~*~*~*~

Five firecrackers later and Pete's legs ache, his knees bruised from throwing himself to the concrete after firecracker number three. They're sitting behind the main stage, side by side and resting against a wall that's vibrating with echoing bass, hidden from the crowds of wandering fans. Pete can feel the vibrations sink through his skin, travel down his spine and flow to his fingers and toes. His eyes are closed and his mouth is curled into a slight smile as he taps his fingers against Mikey's arm.

"You missed a beat," Mikey says when Pete's rhythm stutters, falling behind the sound from the stage.

"Never said I was the best at keeping a tune." Pete leans in, his head against Mikey's shoulder and stops tapping all together, wrapping his fingers around Mikey's arm. "It's your fault, anyway. You're too distracting."

Mikey's hand is warm and he smells of sweat and gunpowder as he relaxes so he's leaning heavily against Pete. "I'm not distracting. You're the one everyone looks at."

"Fishing for compliments." Amused, Pete clicks his tongue against his teeth and then, in a sudden movement, rolls onto his side and straddles Mikey's knees. "But I'll play your game."

Mikey rests his hands on Pete's legs, thumbs against his inner thigh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Pete says, staring intently at Mikey. "You're distracting because your eyes draw me in, your mouth seduces me, your angles slice my skin and capture my heart."

Mikey's mouth curls at the corner and Pete feels lighter than he has for years, the weight he carries on his shoulders pushed aside for midnight conversations and days spent running and sheltering from the sun. Mikey kneads Pete's thighs with his thumbs, says, "Flatterer."

"Just telling the truth," Pete says in reply, "And it got me you."

Mikey shakes his head. "Not with those lines. You tried to take my soda and then asked if I wanted to throw water bombs from the bus roof."

Pete sits back, Mikey's knees under his ass. "The soda was still in the cooler, technically it wasn't yours."

"Touchers keepers, you snooze you loose," Mikey says instantly, apparently parroting a saying from years before. "I had hold of it first."

"By all of a second." Pete rests his hand on top of one of Mikey's, curling his fingers so his fingertips press against Mikey's palm. "You still gave it to me."

"I was raised right," Mikey says levelly, and Pete rubs at the back of his neck as he remembers that first meeting -- heat and noise and in the middle of it all, Mikey. Cool and collected as Pete laughed the loudest and longest, his attention scattered as he reached out for that last ice-cold soda. "And you pulled it out of my hand."

"Lies." Pete grins, delighted with Mikey's story. "All lies, you gave me that soda because you recognized the inevitable nature of our love."

Mikey bends his knees, making Pete list to the side. "How could I forget? I saw you and suddenly the signs made sense. The stars that spelled your name, how I saw your face in my cereal, the way white noise always said Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet."

With each example Pete feels his grin widen until he propels himself forward, wrapping his arms around Mikey's neck and tugging him sideways so they both fall to the ground. It's not comfortable in the slightest: Pete's elbow jabs against Mikey's back and the grass is dried out and scratchy, more brown than green; Mikey doesn't move at all. He lies still, staring up at the cloudless blue sky as Pete props himself up on one elbow, serious as he looks down at Mikey and says, "You delight me, Mikey Way. I knew we were destined to be."

Mikey stares up at Pete, his expression flickering, closing off and then changing to something like seems like hope. "You think we're destined to be together?"

Pete thinks of lengthy nightly conversations conducted by words and screen, the wonder and fear he felt when he realized their relationship could become something more than a fling. "I think right at this moment I love you."

Mikey doesn't reply at first, then he reaches up, his hand behind Pete's head, pulling him down for a kiss. It's not a showy kiss, despite being hidden from view there are still people walking nearby, but Pete hears the unspoken words when their mouths touch, Mikey's hand against Pete's neck, snatching this moment in the sun.

~*~*~*~

"We need to do something," Pete says. "Something big."

They're sitting at one of the rickety picnic benches, a plate of fries between them. Mikey takes a drink of his water then presses the bottle against his cheek. He feels overheated, his t-shirt wet under his arms and back and knows if he pulls off his hat his hair will be soaked. The sensible thing would be to go inside, back to one of the air conditioned buses. Instead he keeps his foot hooked around Pete's and runs a fry through the ketchup blobbed on the side of the plate. "I was online earlier..."

"Yeah?" Pete interrupts, talking as he eats. "Did you check out that sweet link I sent?"

Mikey swallows and licks ketchup from the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. It was fucking gross."

"I know, right?" Pete grins, gesturing with his hands as he says. "You'd think it wasn't physically possible. I had to send it."

Mikey understands, he'd sent it to most of his contacts, too. "They had to have been using a box, but that wasn't what I was talking about. I was reading how to make a smoke bomb."

Pete leans across the tablet. "Tell me you bookmarked the instructions."

Mikey rolls his eyes. "Of course I did," and he's already starting to stand when Pete jumps to his feet and steps over the bench of the table.

It's too hot to run. Instead they plunge from shadow to shadow, making a game of hiding from the fans who have collected near the fences, cameras ready and hands pressed against the mesh. Pete stands on tiptoes, his mouth next to Mikey's ear. "If we had super speed we could run right past."

Mikey shakes his head. "Invisibility. Always." It's nothing Mikey even has to think about. Invisibility is always the best option. It's just how it is.

"We need a distraction," Pete says, dropping back down. "We should have kept some of the firecrackers."

"Or we could walk the long way back." It's something that's fine by Mikey. It's that or separate, either Pete or himself going by first before the other follows minutes later, because as much as Mikey respects their fans, this thing with Pete is private, a part of his life that he doesn't want shared.

A last look at the crowd and Pete turns, says, "The long way around it is."

They take a circuitous route back to the bus and when they approach Mikey slows, looking at the windows that seem dark and empty. He can't see anyone inside but he hasn't seen any of his band elsewhere either.

"I won't let them kill you." Pete wraps his hand around Mikey's wrist, holding on as they reach the door.

"They won't kill me," Mikey says, and then adds thoughtfully. "Well, Gee won't, not unless he wants to be in deep shit with mom. He could kill you, though."

"I could take him." Pete's dancing in place, one hand fisted in what Mikey assumes is supposed to be a boxing pose. "I'm tough."

"Gerard's tougher," Mikey says simply as the door opens with a hiss. "Come on, if we're lucky they've gone out."

They haven't.

Mikey's inside for all of seconds when he's suddenly grabbed and hefted into the air. Caught by surprise he gasps and presses his hand against his sunglasses, keeping them on his face when he finds himself upside down and looking at Bob's ass.

"You threw a firecracker," Bob says, his voice threateningly calm. "I thought the bus was on fire."

Mikey braces his hand against Bob's leg and lifts his head until he can see Gerard and Brian lounging on the sofa, an open laptop on Brian's knee.

"I was asleep." Frank this time, but despite his frown Mikey can tell Frank's more amused than annoyed. "The bus was full of fucking smoke."

"My hair reeks of it," Ray says and crosses his arms across his chest as he stares between Mikey and Pete. "I had to wash it in a bucket. Do you know how hard it is to wash my hair in a bucket?"

"Joe washed his hair in a bucket once." Pete takes a few steps into the lounge, inching toward Gerard and Brian. "He said it was refreshing."

"Refreshing?!" Ray's voice climbs in pitch as he stares at Pete. "He said it was refreshing?"

Pete shoves the ends of his fingers into his jeans pockets and scruffs his shoe against the sticky carpet. "Technically he said it was fucking cold enough to freeze the balls from a brass monkey but in essence it's the same thing."

Brian stops typing and looks at Pete. "The fuck?"

Pete shrugs. "He'd been hanging with a British tech."

"Do brass monkeys even have balls?" Gerard taps his fingers against his knee, his face screwed up in thought. "And was he talking about a statue or an actual brass monkey? Because that would be fucking awesome."

Momentarily, Pete seems thrown, then he grins wide as he announces, "I'm going to have the best weird brother-in-law ever."

For a long moment there's silence, then Gerard forces a small smile. ""You got _engaged_? That's... Congratulations, I just, uh, thought you'd tell me."

Dangling upside down from Bob's shoulder isn't a good place to deal with Gerard's confusion but Mikey knows he isn't going anywhere, not when Bob's holding so tight. Craning his neck he opens his mouth to explain when Brian shuts his laptop, his fingertips white where they're pressed against the case. He looks from Mikey to Pete.

"I don't care what you do. I don't fucking care, okay? But if I go online and find a blog announcing your engagement I'll kill you. Both of you."

"There's not," Pete says, looking earnest as he adds. "I wouldn't do that."

There's a mass noise of disbelief and Mikey understands, because the fact is, that's exactly what Pete would do.

"Okay, fine." Pete holds out his hands. "I've shared some stuff in the past, but getting engaged is different."

"Especially as it hasn't happened," Mikey puts in when Pete seems set on leaving out that important fact. "There's no engagement, no blog. Nothing."

"There was a firecracker and a lot of fucking smoke," Bob says, and circles in a fast spin until Mikey's head is swimming. Taking a few steps back, Bob lets Mikey drop to the couch where he lands in an ungainly heap against Gerard. "Do that shit again and I'll shove a firecracker up your ass. Both of you."

Mikey struggles upright, jabbing his elbows into Gerard's side in the process. "No more firecrackers."

"Promise," Pete adds, attempting to look innocent as he sidles toward Mikey. "You were going to show me something in your bunk."

"Show him something in your bunk." Frank shakes his head sadly. "That's the lamest euphemism for sex I've ever heard."

"No," Ray says, looking stern. "No it's not because Mikey knows there's no sex on the bus. It's number two on the rules."

Brian looks up from his re-opened laptop, his hands held over the keys. "I thought number two was no shitting in the toilet?"

"That's number three," Bob says and plucks a sheet of paper off the wall. "Number two, no sex on the bus."

"Especially when I'm here," Ray says. "And Gerard. It's not right."

Gerard looks up from where he's curled up, his head on Brian's shoulder. "I don't mind. It's nothing I haven't heard before."

Ray sighs. "Addendum, it's not right for anyone that's not a freaky Way."

Seeing his chance, Mikey indicates that Pete should follow him while the others are distracted. Making their escape, Pete follows Mikey into his bunk. As always the space is tight, barely room for Mikey himself never mind Pete, but they do fit, Pete lying plastered against Mikey's side as Mikey powers up his laptop. Waiting for it to load Mikey turns his head, says, "Brother in law, really?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Pete turns his head too, so close that Mikey can feel his every exhale. With a beep the laptop finishes loading, but Mikey doesn't look away, not at first. Not until Pete smiles, small and barely there before brushing a kiss against Mikey's mouth and pulling away. "Smoke bomb, we haven't got long."

The spell broken, Mikey brings up the right page, reading what they need out loud. "Sugar, got it. Baking soda, can get it. Potassium nitrate and organic dye, that'll be harder."

Pete flops onto his back, hips pushed up as he pulls out his phone. "Not if you know the right people."

Prising his own phone from his pocket, Mikey scans through his contacts, sharing a grin with Pete before they both start to dial.

~*~*~*~

Mikey feels wrung out, exhausted but also exhilarated, his fingers still aching from playing. Carefully, he wraps duct tape around the hastily constructed smoke bomb, ensuring each overlapping circle is level. The table in front of him is littered with supplies, the tubes from inside toilet paper rolls -- the paper itself is heaped inside Joe's bunk -- scraps of tape and spare fuses. Pete's standing at the small sink, trying to scrub the pan they used to mix the chemicals and dye. Mikey suspects he'll give up soon, the pan's just too coated and blackened on the bottom; he's just glad they poured out the contents before breaking off for a kiss.

"I give." Pete drops the pan in the soapy water and takes a step back. "It'll never come clean."

"Our first casualty," Mikey says, wrapping a final circle of duct tape before snapping it with his teeth.

Pete nods sadly. "It went to a noble cause." Picking up the pan, he flings it through the nearest open window.

Mikey hears it land outside with a clatter and bows his head. "The sacrifice is noted."

Grinning, Pete thumps down next to Mikey, leaning against him as he looks at the smoke bomb. It doesn't look particularly impressive. A tape-wrapped cardboard tube with a short fuse sticking out one end, but if they've done it right it should produce a billowing cloud of smoke. Mikey's itching to try it out.

Pete picks up the smoke bomb and slips it into the pocket of his hoodie. "Ready to cause some chaos?"

Mikey feels twitchy, lingering adrenaline from the performance flowing through his body; chaos is exactly what he needs. He nods, says, "Always."

A quick look in the mirror and they're hurrying from the bus, almost tumbling down the stairs. Stumbling, Mikey steadies himself, one hand against Pete's back as Pete makes sure the door is locked. Satisfied he turns to Mikey, says, "Let's go."

It doesn't take long to get to one of the nightly parties, this one celebrating Fall Out Boy ending their leg of the tour. Already some of the buses have left, leaving blank spaces surrounded by trash and flattened grass. Walking along one of those distinct lines, Mikey listens to the sound of music and people talking, laughter and the occasional shriek. They're sounds he used to crave, bodies packed into too small of spaces, thumping music and always, people there to distract him from his own thoughts. Now those cravings have been eased a little, the empty spaces inside of him filled with a summer of sunshine and Pete.

"We need to get up high." Pete's looking around, planning out loud as they get closer to the main action. "If we get on a bus we'll see everything."

"Probably fall off and die too," Mikey remarks, but he follows Pete's lead and looks up high as they try to remain hidden, away from the main throng of people.

"That one." Pete points up at a bus. It's not one of the big buses but it is close to the open space where people have congregated. There's also a garbage can close by. Mikey looks from that to the bus.

"You want me to climb up on that?"

"You're tall, you'll make it," Pete says, seemingly unconcerned that mostly all Mikey does is climb stairs. "I'll help you up."

Mikey heads for the back of the bus. "If I die I'm coming back to haunt your ass."

"You wouldn't get the chance, your band would kill me." Pete starts to haul the can close to the bus. "We'd haunt together then. Together for eternity. Dibs being the one to pop up in Bob's bed."

"You've got it," Mikey says, dubious as he eyes how far they'll have to climb, even using the trash can. "You do know I don't climb?"

Pete runs forward and takes a running leap, and in a mad scramble pulls himself onto the roof of the bus. Lying on his stomach he peers down at Mikey. "I know you can do anything you put your mind to."

"Easy for you to say," Mikey mutters, swearing under his breath as he climbs. Balancing on the lid of the trash can he looks up, gauging how far he'll have to jump. "We could have found a ladder."

"It's more fun this way." Pete's hanging over the edge and he reaches for Mikey's hand. "I'll pull you up."

"Of course you will," Mikey says, already reaching. Taking hold he counts, _one, two, three,_ then jumps, feet thumping against the side of the bus as Pete tugs, pulling Mikey up until he flops onto the roof, hip bones impacting painfully against the metal.

"Told you it'd be easy." Pete's lying on his back, grinning up at the dark sky before he rolls over and wiggles to the side that overlooks the party. Mikey does the same, crawling on hands and knees until he can lie next to Pete.

They've got a perfect view. Close by a bonfire crackles, sparks shooting white hot against the dark sky. Further around there's a table of food, hot dogs and burgers ready to be grilled and a heaped pile of open bags of chips. Then there are the people, the men and women who've shaped Mikey's summer. He can see merch kids and techs, members of various bands, the followers that somehow become part of the tour despite having no official role. Within seconds Mikey finds Gerard; he's sitting in a lawn chair chatting to a small group of people who're hanging onto his every word. A little longer and he finds Bob sharing a beer with the techs, Frank with Butcher and James.

"Patrick's over there." Pete nudges Mikey with his elbow, smiling fondly at Patrick who's crouched next to the battered CD player, examining the stack of CDs. Still looking at Patrick, Pete says, "More surveillance or should we engage?"

Mikey considers. He won't see some of these people again after tonight, but he's already said his goodbyes. This time belongs to Pete. He pushes himself onto his side and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. "It's time to cause chaos."

Pete's eyes shine bright as he takes out the smoke bomb, holding it steady. Mikey flicks the lighter, once, twice, three times before he gets a flame. He brings it to the fuse.

"Target sighted." Pete brings back his arm, the fuse glowing red at the end. He waits and Mikey can hardly breathe, excitement surging as Pete says, "Three, two, one, fire!"

Pete throws the smoke bomb to the side of the crowd. It lands on the grass, a small dark shape that does nothing at all at first and all Mikey can think is they've failed. Then the first smoke appears. A tiny trail of pink that keeps swelling, until suddenly it's a huge billowing cloud that rolls relentlessly forward, swallowing people and things alike. People are yelling, looking for the cause and Mikey stays low, chin against chilled metal, Pete lying close at his side.

"We've caused chaos, Mikeyway, the Sweet Little Dudes are going out with a bang."

"We did," Mikey says softly, and he doesn't want this time to end. He wants it to stretch on, defying the switch to a new day. Gathering courage, Mikey turns to Pete. "There's a hotel close by, we could grab a cab."

There's no reply and Mikey thinks he's finally pushed beyond Pete's ever fluid line, the one that stretched from kissing to hand jobs to Mikey down on his knees, Pete's hands clenched and his pants around his ankles. Then, finally, Pete takes in a long breath, says, "We should go now before we're spotted."

Mikey agrees.

~*~*~*~

The room at the hotel is nothing special. Generic pictures of flowers on the wall, a beige carpet with a dark stain close to the door.

As soon as they're inside Pete looks into the free-standing closet, opens the drawers of the desk and finally, checks out the small bathroom. The fan whirs on when he opens the door and he takes a few steps forward, his sneakers padding against the lino. Mouth dry, Pete reaches for an upturned glass and winces when he fumbles his grip, the glass hitting the sink with a clatter.

"You okay?" Mikey calls.

"Fine," Pete replies and picks up the glass. Filling it with water he takes a long drink, always watching himself in the mirror - seeing his hair that's lost any sense of a style, his t-shirt that's stained with dirt and sweat. Pete wonders if he should make some attempt to clean up, shower or have a quick wash down at least. Except Pete doesn't want that delay. Not now, when Mikey's waiting in the next room.

"Pete."

Mikey sounds impatient and Pete indulges himself with fantasies of finding Mikey reclining on the bed, already naked and waiting. Which is what happens; sort of.

Mikey is on the bed but he's still fully dressed apart from his hat. That's been thrown to one side and Mikey's hair is soaked through and flat against his head and when he takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes his eyeliner is smeared and clumped. He looks filthy, his clothes torn and rumpled. To Pete he's the most beautiful man alive.

"You're staring," Mikey says and replaces his glasses.

"I am," Pete agrees and takes a sudden running jump onto the bed. Landing on his back he flings out his arms and announces. "Have your wicked way with me, Mikey Way."

Mikey turns and reaches out, his hand on Pete's stomach. "We've got all night, we don't have to rush."

Pete's used to snatching kisses and keeping quiet, biting down on his own hand in his bunk or a bathroom or half hidden behind some stage. He's not used to time and space, where all he can do is lie still as Mikey worms his fingers under Pete's t-shirt, his touch gentle as he follows the lines of Pete's ribs. It's close to overwhelming, the quiet apart from their breathing, the feel of Mikey's hand and the way he's looking down at Pete like he's something precious.

"Mikey..."

"Shush," Mikey says and leans in for a kiss. The barest brush of his lips before he pulls back. "You don't have to talk."

Pete nods and allows himself to feel. Mikey's hand, the bedspread under his bare arms, the clinging late night heat that rolls over his body. Always Pete has words that flow through his head, a constant stream that clamours for freedom. Right now they're dulled, made sluggish as Mikey folds himself down, lying along the length of Pete's body.

"Let me take care of you tonight," Mikey says.

Pete gropes for the words to reply, but they slip from his grasp, taken away by a gasp as Mikey's hand slips lower, past the waistband of Pete's pants.

Finally he manages, gasps a drawn out, "Please."

Mikey smiles in reply.

~*~*~*~

It's still dark when they leave the hotel. Sitting slumped in the back of a cab Mikey watches the sun rise over the horizon, an all too visible reminder of the new day.

Pete's sitting in the middle of the back seat. He's pulled in on himself, his hands clasped together and eyes half-closed, the energy of before wiped away. Mikey wants to reach out and touch but he resists the urge, not here in this cab with its too hot heating, soft rock playing on the radio and a palm tree air freshener swaying from the mirror.

"I've got this," Pete says when they finally pull to a stop. Leaving Pete to pay Mikey steps outside, pushing his hands into his hoodie's pocket, the one he's stolen from Pete. Already there's the sound of activity, clangs of metal and muted voices, but those are in the distance; right here, standing at the gates of the grounds, he's alone, isolated in the pools of light that radiate from the cab. Then it pulls away and there's only Mikey and Pete.

Pete steps close and wraps his arm around Mikey, rests his head against Mikey's shoulder. "Thank you."

Mikey looks down. In this light Pete looks grey, his eyes bruised dark. "For what?"

"For everything," Pete says, his fingers digging into Mikey's side. "For this summer, for being you."

It's a goodbye, unexpected and painful. Mikey twists in Pete's grip, needing to see him face to face. "It's not over. We can keep seeing each other."

"I'm leaving the tour, the summer is over," Pete says, gentle, like he's explaining something that Mikey should understand. "Things can't be the same, life doesn't work like that."

"Says who?" Mikey demands, because he knows about life, how it can twist and turn beneath you, bringing you to your knees, but that doesn't mean you give up all control. "So it's not summer, so fucking what? It's always summer somewhere."

"Not for us." Pete smiles, small and barely there. "It's easier this way."

"It's easier to walk away? Not even try." Mikey can't believe that, no matter how sure Pete seems. "What we have is good. You said we were destined to be."

Pete steps close, his hands on Mikey's hips. "We were, and if we're destined to be together we'll meet again."

"Fuck destiny," Mikey says, but there's no heat behind it, because he knows Pete. The way that he stands, the slope of his shoulders, the emotions he keeps hidden behind that beaming smile. Mikey knows it all and right now he knows Pete is trying to pull away, but that doesn't mean Mikey's given up. "I'd travel to you."

"And I'd put out the welcome mat." Pete slides his fingers under the waistband of Mikey's pants and pulls him forward. "And then you'd leave and my heart would break over again. I can't do that, Mikey. I couldn't take it."

"Even if fate meant us to be together?" Mikey asks, knowing he's grasping at straws. "You're throwing up blocks before the big boss, I can't win if I can't fight."

"Then I'll take down a block," Pete says suddenly. He pulls away from Mikey and takes out his wallet. Opening it Pete pulls out a five dollar bill and takes a sharpie from his pocket.

Confused, Mikey watches as Pete crouches and scrawls Mikey's name on the bill. "That's taking down a block?"

"This is me giving fate a chance." Pete stands and holds the bill in the air before letting it be taken by the wind. "If this gets back to me I know fate's sending a message."

Which makes Pete-sense, but it's still a minute chance. Mikey needs to strengthen the odds. "What about me? This is a one player game right now."

Pete thinks for a moment and then grabs hold of the hem of his Clandestine t-shirt. Pulling it up he points at the tag. "When I get home I'll sign this and give it away. If you find it, it's a sign."

Unable to resist, Mikey rests his hand against Pete's stomach, feeling him breathe. "I'll keep looking."

"Good," Pete says and presses a kiss against Mikey's mouth, lingering for a long moment, his forehead against Mikey's. He pulls back a little and says, "Best friends, Mikey Way."

Mikey swallows and knows that it's time. Forcing himself to let go he turns away and with a last look at Pete, says goodbye to the summer.

~*~*~*~

**Five years later**

Bob's face is red, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he carries the box up the steps. Stopping at the top he rests the box against the railing of the porch, propping it in place with his hip. "What the fuck's in here? Rocks?"

Mikey looks up from where he's sitting on the ground, Bunny cradled in his arms. Her pink leash -- a perfect match to her fur-lined hoodie -- is wrapped three times around Mikey's wrist. "Comic books, I think. They need to go upstairs."

"Of course they fucking do," Bob mutters, picking up the box and bumping open the front door with his ass.

"Piglet likes the garden." Frank appears at the side of the porch, his feet crunching in the gravel that surrounds the flowerbeds. Reaching the walkway he hesitates, waiting for Piglet to catch up. When she does Frank hefts her in his arms and walks up the steps before folding to the ground next to Mikey. "She found a dead bird."

"Did she eat it?" Mikey asks, ruffling his fingers through Bunny's fur. It won't be the first time if she had, sometimes he thinks Piggie's chops suck up anything in her proximity like a vacuum cleaner.

Frank screws up his face, seemingly caught between distaste and admiration. "She tried to chew at a wing, I had to pull a feather from her flub."

Mikey curls himself around Bunny and stares Piglet in the eyes. "You're not allowed bones. You know better."

Piglet flops to her side in response. Hand on her head, Frank says, "I can't believe you've bought a house. With a stove and everything."

Mikey fixes Frank with a look. "I eat, and you've got a house. This isn't something earth-shattering."

"I've got a house with Jamia, and jelly worms don't count." Frank rubs behind Piglet's ears, then adds, "My house isn't in oldsville, either."

"You know Jason needed a place near his work," Mikey says, defending his new home, even if it's not somewhere he'd choose himself. He pulls up his knees, boots planted firmly against the worn boards and watches as Gerard attempts to fit an armchair through the narrow gate. It's a losing battle and Gerard ends up with his hands on his hips, hair in disarray and huge sunglasses hiding his eyes -- he's a swearing, dark figure in the normal quiet of the street and Mikey knows there's more than one person watching from behind curtains. Abruptly he stands and gives Bunny to Frank. "Watch her, I'm going to help Gee."

Bunny held securely in his lap, Frank leans back and closes his eyes against the sun. "Knock yourself out."

It's only a few steps before Mikey's standing next to the stuck armchair. Staring past Gerard he resists the urge to flip off the people who keep watching, especially the man in the house opposite who shakes his head before dropping the curtain.

"You need a bigger gate," Gerard says, and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. "Or a smaller armchair, either would work."

Mikey considers the gate with its white painted slats, the ones that perfectly match the fence. "We could take it off the hinges, it'll give a few more inches."

"Or you could lift it over the top," Ray says, jumping down from the back of the van. He's carrying a statue of Boba Fett and sets it down on the sidewalk, resting his elbow on Boba's head. "It'll be easy if we do it together."

Gerard scowls at the chair. "Easy for you to say, I think the things's stuffed with cement." He looks around then, craning his neck to see into the van. "Schechter, get your ass out here and help."

Ray pushes away from Boba and approaches the chair. "He's gone to pick up coffee with Jason."

"Yeah?" Mikey steps closer, suddenly desperately craving caffeine. "Are they going to that Starbucks we passed on the way? Do they know what to get? Are they getting food, too?"

Ray bends and grabs hold of an arm of the chair. "Brian's been picking your orders up forever now and you've been practically living with Jason for over a year. They know what to get."

It's true, Mikey has to admit that. Still, he can't help pulling out his phone and sending a quick text. "I told Jason to get grandes, I need them."

"You need to grab hold of this," Ray says, looking at Mikey over the shredded bottom of the chair. "This thing looks like it was attacked by Wolverine."

Mikey hooks his fingers under an arm. "It's Bunny, she's a demon in disguise."

"She is," Gerard agrees, nodding his head sharply so his sunglasses slide back down. "A ninja demon in a pink hoodie."

Mikey glances over his shoulder to where Bunny's lying sprawled over Frank's knees. "I think she's plotting world domination. I found her about to make a call last week."

Ray sighs, cutting off Mikey's tale of Bunny's brilliance. "If we ever get this stuff inside _you_ could make a call, to order pizza, maybe."

One handed, Mikey pulls out his phone again. "I can call from here."

"Or you can get over here," Gerard says softly. "You're about to meet your neighbors."

Turning his attention from Ray, Mikey sees that a man and woman are walking toward them, a large file held in the man's hand. When they get close they give a disdainful look toward Boba Fett and the furniture that's still grouped on the grass verge.

"Mr. and Mrs. Robert Collery," the man says, his gaze shifting from Gerard to Ray to Mikey. "Representatives of the home-owners' association. We've got a welcome pack for Mr. Stiles."

"Jason's on a coffee run." Awkwardly Mikey steps over the fence, wincing a little at the pull of his tight jeans. "I'm Mikey. Mikey Way."

"Oh yes, Mr. Stiles' _friend_." In Robert's mouth the label is an insult and internally Mikey bristles.

"Boyfriend, technically," Mikey says coldly, staring directly at Robert.

"Right." Robert holds out the file at arms length. "As I explained to Mr. Stiles living in the area comes with conditions. All of which were outlined to him on purchase of the property."

Mikey keeps his hands at his sides, says briefly, "I'm aware."

"Then you'll be aware removal vans are permitted for a limited period of time and the maximum amount of pets is three."

Mikey nods. "That won't be an issue."

"Parties are not banned but we expect them to be civilized and any loud noise curtailed," Robert goes on, as if Mikey hasn't spoken at all. "I trust you'll read the rules and behave in a manner befitting of this community."

"We'll keep the ritual sacrifices out of sight," Mikey says levelly, then adds. "Anything else?"

Robert's mouth is a thin line as he sets the file on an end table. "I suggest you read and memorize the rules. Good day to you."

As one the couple turn and stalk away. Mikey sighs and turns to Gerard and Ray who've both moved to stand behind him. "Welcome to the fucking neighborhood."

Gerard's watching the Collerys walk into their house. When they're inside he turns to Mikey, looking concerned. "You can still change your mind. There's room to stay with us, for both of you. Brian won't mind."

There's a moment when Mikey's tempted to say yes. This isn't the kind of place Mikey ever pictured living, but at the same time, he'd never pictured being with anyone like Jason either, and he knows that's going well. Mikey shakes his head. "I like this house, we both do."

"Then let's get you moved in, then," Gerard says, and takes hold of the chair.

It's half an hour later when Brian and Jason appear carrying trays of coffee and paper bags looped over their wrists. Mikey's sitting on the floor, a box between his legs as he sorts through the contents. Mostly there are framed pictures, each one wrapped in items of clothes and he's got his hand on an old faded Clandestine hoodie, memories of hot sunny days pressing close. They're memories that have lingered for years, in the background but always there and Mikey's glad of the distraction when the front door opens. He looks up, and at the smell of coffee he scrambles to his feet and plucks one of the cups free from the tray Jason's holding.

"We got plain drip," Brian says and points a finger at Gerard. "So no bitching about tall mocha grande venti with syrup shots bullshit."

Gerard takes his own cup, ignoring Brian completely.

We got pastries, too." Jason sets his tray on a box and takes a chocolate muffin out of the bag. Holding it by the paper case he moves next to Mikey. "I got this for you."

Reminded just how hungry he is, Mikey takes the muffin and thanks Jason with a lingering kiss.

"Do I get to thank him with a kiss?"

Mikey opens his eyes and sees that Frank's standing close, his eyes wide and mouth puckered. Amused, Mikey leans into Jason's embrace, feeling secure in his hold. "You'd need to thank Brian, he's got the blueberry muffins."

"Oh no." Brian holds up his hands and scowls when Frank turns his way. "I'd rather kiss Piglet than you."

"Dogs have no lips," Mikey says then. "Frank's the better kisser and Gerard won't mind."

Brian's scowl deepens. "I would, the only person I kiss is Gerard."

"You romantic devil," Frank says, grinning wide as he turns his attention to Bob. "It's okay, I'll kiss Bob instead."

Bob doesn't even look up from where he's attempting to fit together Bunny's cat tower. "Touch me and I'll kill you."

Mikey takes another drink of coffee, leaning heavily against Jason, so content he can't help his smile.

~*~*~*~

Mostly Pete embraces attention, drinking in the positive and retaining the negative until it festers and needs spewing out through words. Today all he wants to do is get home. He's tired, endless meetings, late nights and lack of sleep leaving him drained and aching as he sips his take out coffee and heads back to his car.

The fans are waiting outside the coffee shop, a small group of girls who whisper together and pretend they don't know who is he while texting on their phones. Pete forces a smile and hopes he won't look too haggard on the inevitable pictures -- he'll have to check the communities tonight to see.

"Pete." Finally one of the girls steps forward. She's got pink streaks in her hair and rosy cheeks, her bracelets jangle together as she walks. Next to her Pete feels dried up and ancient.

Pete stops walking and hopes all they want is an autograph, he can do that in his sleep. "Hi."

The girl smiles, hesitant as if unsure of Pete's reaction. "I was wondering. We were wondering, can we have a picture?"

"Sure," Pete says, and fixes on his smile as one by one the girls approach him, slip their hands around his back and get close. It takes a while to get all the pictures, camera phones held up and Pete's grin frozen as he clings onto his coffee, feeling it go cold.

"Thank you," the first girl says -- Megan, Pete has just autographed her copy of Seventeen magazine. She's clutching her bag with both hands but is also smiling, like somehow Pete's made her day. "We weren't going to come to the coffee shop, but today the bus was late and we decided to hang out. I think it was fate."

Pete shakes his head. As much as he once believed, life has taught him fate doesn't work that way. "More a technical fault with the bus." He smiles again, taking any sting from his words. "It was nice meeting you."

All the girls answer together and Pete takes his chance to escape. For a while the girls keep following, watching him drink his cold coffee and hurry to his car. It's only when he's inside that he relaxes, slumping back in the seat before straightening and starting the engine, counting the minutes until he's home.

He keeps the radio on as he drives, background noise that washes over the thoughts in his head, calming them down as he pulls to a stop outside his own house. It looks deserted, empty and still in the way Pete hates so much. Momentarily he thinks about reversing and keeping on driving. Just keep going, the sound of the road soothing that itch that's taken root in his bones. It's a temptation that's hard to ignore but Pete forces himself to get out of his car, to open the front door to his silent, suffocating house. Which is when he's confronted with a huge gift-wrapped box. It's in the middle of the hall, the silver paper catching the late afternoon sun that floods through the windows. Cautiously Pete approaches, taking in the lack of a gift tag and the shiny red bow.

Hesitantly Pete toes at the box. Usually the record company are good at filtering away any weird gifts from fans, but there's always a chance one has slipped through; the last thing Pete needs is to open the box and find a person curled up inside. He pushes at the box with his foot and it slides across the tiles. Not a person then and Pete gives in to curiosity, unable to resist tugging at the bow and tearing away the paper, revealing a plain cardboard box. Pete opens that box, and inside is another wrapped parcel. Pete grins and opens that too, suspecting Tom or Gabe, someone who would think it's fun to delay the surprise.

There's another box inside that one, and another and another until Pete's kneeling in a sea of shredded gift paper, scraps of silver and blue, pink and red ribbons trailing on the floor. When he eventually gets to the last box it's small, light, and Pete's heart is thundering, because he knows that shape. He rips of the last layer of paper and stares down at the small blue jewelry box.

"Open it."

Pete looks up and sees Kyle standing in the doorway to the den, perfectly still, his expression fixed as Pete runs his fingers over the box. He wants to open it and not at the same time and his hands tremble slightly as he sits back on his heels, feeling unsteady and suspecting he's about to cross some relationship line. Finally Pete opens the box, revealing a key.

"I thought, you spend so much time there anyway," Kyle says, and kicks aside paper to get to Pete. "I thought you could move in with me. Make it official."

Pete makes a hasty decision. Kyle's been there for him for the last year, through good times and bad, plus, living together means less time alone. If Pete doesn't truly love him right now, well, that will come.

Key gripped hard in his hand, the sharp edges jabbing against his skin, Pete says, "Yes."

~*~*~*~

The saleswoman runs her hand over the top of the mailbox and then flicks down the flag with the tip of her finger. "This model is made of durable galvanized steel and all parts are fully guaranteed. Plus, for an additional small fee we can apply your family name to the side." The woman smiles, says, "It's the ultimate in home-owner's chic."

Mikey looks at the mailbox which is a match to multiple others, all seemingly white and shining. He feels out of place in this shop, his clothes too dark, his hair too long and he keeps his hands clenched against his sides. He glances around, hoping to see something less sterile and white. "Do you have any other colors?"

"We do," the saleswoman says and indicates that Mikey should follow. They walk along the line of mailboxes and stop next to ones painted in a variety of pastel shades. "These are part of our Little Sweet Heart range, slightly more expensive but I'm sure you'll agree, worth it. The eggshell blue is very popular."

Mikey swallows and for a moment instead of gleaming surfaces and polish he's smelling damp grass and old sweat, Pete's laughter in his ears. They're memories that have become more frequently lately and he blinks, taking a moment to get back to the now. Back to a place where he's surrounded by the kinds of mailbox that they need, something that fits in with his new neighborhood. The problem is, no matter how hard he tries they're not fitting with Mikey himself. He looks around again. "Do you have something darker? Maybe in black or blood red? Or even shaped differently, like a dragon or robot."

The saleswoman's smile fades and she looks pinched around the mouth as she says, "Oh no, we don't have call for that kind of thing." She takes a half step back and then seems to rally. "We do have a model in white that comes with a navy flag. It's right this way."

"No, it's okay." Mikey shakes his head, needing to get out of this shop and the overwhelming glare of white surfaces. "These are not, I mean, I have to live with this. I have to go."

Without waiting for a reply Mikey heads for the door and pushes his way outside. Taking a deep breath of fresh air he hurries away, already pulling out his phone and dialing Gerard's number. Slowing, his phone against his ear, Mikey stops next to a small boutique, looking in at the window display of shoes and dresses.

"Can you meet me for coffee?" Mikey says as soon as Gerard picks up, then groans when someone exits the shop and he hears that _Dance, Dance_ is being played inside.

"Mikey? You okay?" Gerard sounds concerned, his voice pitched sharp. "Have you been petting strange dogs again?"

"No. Yes. No dogs," Mikey says and then adds. "Meet me at the usual place," before ending the call.

The usual place is a coffee-shop tucked away at the end of a busy street. It's small and the tables inside are crowded close, but Mikey likes to sit at the window, sipping coffee and taking a breather from the world. He's been there for almost an hour when he sees Gerard, sunglasses on and hair sticking up like he's just rolled out of bed. Signaling for two more coffees Mikey pushes out a chair with his foot and watches as Gerard steps inside, his brow slightly furrowed like he can't believe that he's not going to find Mikey in some kind of peril.

"Pete's haunting me," Mikey says, before Gerard has the chance to say a word.

"Okay," Gerard says slowly and sits in the seat Mikey pushed out. "Have you been messing with Ouija boards again? Because you need to stop with that shit."

Impatient, Mikey shakes his head. "Not a dead Pete, _Pete_ Pete."

"Oh." Gerard stares at Mikey for a moment then says, "You think Pete Wentz is haunting you."

"I know he's haunting me." Mikey wants to bang his head against the table because lately he's been reminded of Pete everywhere. "I'm hearing his songs all the time, I open a magazine and he's in there. I found my old Clan hoodie when I was unpacking and just now I was buying a mailbox and the range was called Little Sweet Heart."

Gerard's mouth twitches. "You're buying a mailbox? From the Little Sweet Heart range?"

"The old one fell down." Mikey reaches out with his foot and kicks Gerard sharply on the ankle. "Keep to the point."

"Fine," Gerard grumbles and makes a point of bending and rubbing at his foot. He looks over at Mikey. "Pete's in a successful band, he's going to be in magazines and he sends you his music all the time. He always has done."

"It's not the same." Mikey tries to think how to explain that this is different. That these reminders of Pete are hitting a part of himself that he'd thought was dead and buried. "He's haunting me on a new level. One that's telling me something."

"That you're insane?" Gerard suggests, then stops talking when Rose, the owner of the cafe weaves through the tables toward them. Greeting him with a smile she puts down two new coffees and clears the table of empties before walking away.

Mikey curls his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. "I'm not insane, Gee."

"I know." Gerard takes a sip of his coffee and then sets down the mug. "But you're not making sense either."

That's not surprising, the thoughts in Mikey's head aren't making sense either, but he knows these signs have to mean _something_. Mikey looks directly at Gerard. "What if I'm supposed to find Pete's shirt?"

Gerard pushes his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "And what if you do? You're living with Jason now, you've got a house, one that needs a mailbox."

"I know." Mikey groans and pushes his hair out of his face, momentarily surprised it's not stiff with lacquer. "But it's like the Star Wars trilogy, Return of the Jedi is good, it's awesome, but you need to see the original to know how good because that's the start of it all."

"So Pete's Star Wars," Gerard says. He sits back in his chair and meets Mikey's gaze. "Not The Phantom Menace?"

Mikey shakes his head, well aware that Gerard's feelings are colored by being around for those painful weeks when Pete left the Warped tour. "Pete's my friend."

"And what happens if you find the shirt?"

"I don't know," Mikey admits. "But I think I have to try."

Gerard picks up his mug and drains the contents in one. "Well then, we'd better get started."

~~~~~

"We're in here."

Taking off his peacoat Mikey drapes it over the back of a chair. He's spent a long afternoon searching thrift stores with Gerard and now he's ready to watch bad TV and relax. Instead he hears Jason talking and when he heads into the kitchen Mikey finds him sharing coffee with Sara, Jason's new friend who lives two houses down. There's a newspaper open between them and Jason grins as he stands and kisses Mikey on the mouth.

"Mikey, hi." Sara stands too and smoothes down her skirt. "I was just telling Jason the Backstreet Boys are touring, I remember him saying he likes some of their songs."

Jason mimes removing a hat from his own head. "_As Long As You Love Me_ is a classic."

Evading the need to take part in this conversation, Mikey goes to take a bottle of water out of the fridge. Unscrewing the cap he takes a long drink as Jason points at a listing in the newspaper. "So we've agreed on the fourteenth? I'll phone and get us the tickets."

"Sounds good to me," Sara says and looks over at Mikey. "I hope you can get the time off work."

Water spills down Mikey's chin, his startled protest caught in the bottle as Jason looks his way and winks. "I think Mikey's busy that night."

"That's a shame." Sara does sound genuinely regretful, enough that Mikey can fake a smile as Jason says goodbye and escorts Sara to the door. As soon as she's gone he comes back and wraps his arms around Mikey, holding him close.

"Hi."

Mikey raises an eyebrow. "Backstreet Boys tickets, really?"

"I like them," Jason says with a laugh. "And I know you wouldn't want to go."

"They dance, in formation. With hats."

"And Gerard prances with boas," Jason says fondly. "It's all music."

Technically Jason's right, but it'll be a cold day in hell when Mikey goes willingly to that kind of concert. He presses his hand against Jason's back, worming his fingers under his shirt to warm skin. "Don't buy me any merch."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jason's smiling, his head against Mikey's. "I need to go get stuff for dinner. There's laundry on the bed to put away."

Reluctantly Mikey pulls back. "Slave-driver."

"You know it," Jason says, smacking at Mikey's ass. "Now go, do some work for once."

A last kiss and Mikey goes. Stepping over Bunny who's stretched out on the stairs he makes for the master bedroom, and sees the bed is covered with carefully folded piles of clothes -- Mikey's and Jason's and at the front, stacks of small hoodies and coats. Scooping those up first Mikey steps into the walk-in closet and drops the pile on the shelf set aside for the pets. It's a tight fit, despite a self imposed ban on buying more, Bunny's outfits seem to multiply by the day, and both Winston and Piglet could be outfitted differently every day for weeks. A last shove and all the clothes are jammed in place and Mikey goes back for the next handful.

He puts away jeans next, multiple pairs of black against Jason's pale blue denim and grey slacks, then goes for the t-shirts, stopping short when he sees which one is at the top of the stack. It's the Clan hoodie that Mikey stole from Pete, the one Mikey unearthed from the box only weeks before. Sitting heavily on the bed Mikey picks it up, hands clenched in the fabric as he says quietly, "Okay, fate, you fucking win. I'll keep looking."

~*~*~*~

"I don't know." Patrick keeps staring at the picture displayed on the Sidekick. He's frowning, brows pulled together under his glasses. "You always planned to live in L.A. Not stay here in Chicago."

"L.A.'s for dreamers." Pete takes back his Sidekick and slumps in his seat. There's a half eaten plate of food in front of him and he picks up a fry, sliding it through the pool of ketchup.

Patrick frowns more, his elbows on the table as he leans toward Pete. "You've got dreams."

"I've got nightmares," Pete corrects and drops the fry back on the plate. "Kyle helps keep them away."

Patrick seems unhappy with that answer but it's simply the truth. Pete's dream house has gone the way of his dream relationship, those ideals swapped for a reality that helps him feel safe.

"That's..."

Anything Patrick's about to say is cut off by Kyle, who leans over Pete from behind, gathering him in a tight hug. Only minutes from his set Kyle feels hot and his cheek is damp against Pete's as he says, "What did you think?"

"I loved it," Pete says and turns his head for a kiss.

"You were flat on the third song and the tempo was out for the encore," Patrick says and sits back in his chair in a way that Pete knows he's being restrained with what he really thinks. Not that Kyle cares, grinning as he grabs a chair and sits next to Pete.

"I've been talking to Aubrey, the tour's all set."

"That's great," Pete says, happy that Kyle's band is finally getting the recognition they deserve. "Has he told you where yet? We could've played there."

Kyle shakes his head. "I doubt it. We'll be playing small venues, ones where the fans can really hear us."

Pete pulls back a little, his smile fading. "We've played small venues."

"Yeah, but we're about the music," Kyle says. "We want to stay in touch with the fans, not become sell outs." He leans in and kisses Pete's forehead. "We'll be touring from the first through the next two months."

Pete blinks, his stomach twisting as he works out dates. "That's days after I move in, before I'm touring myself."

"My house is your house, you can put your stuff wherever. And we'll work something out about the tour, you're the star, you can leave between shows," Kyle says and then stands, waving toward his band. "I need to go discuss the set, I'll be back soon."

"But..." Pete trails off, but Kyle's already walking away.

Fingers white against his glass, Patrick takes a drink of water, waiting a moment before he tersely says, "Sell out? Really?"

Pete tries to think what to say, some explanation to wave away Kyle's words, but the explanations won't come. Abruptly he stands. "I'm going for some air."

Smiling at acquaintances on the way, Pete pushes his way outside to the small courtyard at the back of the club. Usually it's filled with people spilling from inside but this late it's deserted and he sits on a wooden bench that's pushed against a brick wall. Chin resting against his hands, he enjoys the feel of the breeze against his skin and listens to the faint music from inside, trying to distract himself from the feeling of being cast aside. Then looks up, unsurprised when the door opens and Patrick appears.

"You can move in with me," Patrick says, and sits next to Pete. "Don't settle for second best."

Surprised, Pete bursts out laughing, an ugly sound in this quiet space. "I'd drive you crazy within days."

Patrick shrugs. "I know, it still stands."

It's a tempting offer. Patrick's one of his best friends and they work well together, but not twenty-four seven, that amount of togetherness would drive Patrick insane. Pete sighs and slides to the side, his head against Patrick's shoulder. "Kyle loves me."

Patrick draws in a deep breath, says, "If you ever change your mind..."

"I know your number."

For long minutes they sit in silence. Pete's eyes half closed as he enjoys the moment, the nearness of Patrick helping ease the constant static in his head. It's peaceful, calm in a way he doesn't often achieve, and Pete only moves when he sees something small skitter across the cobbles. At first he thinks it's a flyer from inside but then it gets caught against a terracotta flower pot and Pete sees it's a five dollar bill. Eyes widening, he sits upright.

"Go get it, I won't tell," Patrick says, sounding amused, but Pete doesn't move. Now that he's looking closely he can see the note is new, the sides perfect as the wind picks up and sends it tumbling forward again. There's no written name; but there could have been. Pete remembers hot days and long nights, feelings of adventure, friendship and blossoming love. They're familiar feelings, ones that he revisits often while picking over everything that he's thrown away. But usually those memories strike at the dead of night, not like this, when Patrick's at his side and Pete can think that maybe, just maybe this is a sign.

"I need to find Mikey."

"What?" Patrick turns slightly and looks away from the five dollars to Pete. "You mean Mikey Way? The Mikey Way you broke up with years ago? The Mikey whose number is in your phone, and his email and twitter, that Mikey Way?"

"Of course that Mikey," Pete says, surprised that Patrick could even think there was another Mikey. Impatient he pushes his hair out of his eyes. "I told you the story, about the money and..."

"The name and shirt, I know," Patrick finishes. "I just don't see how it matters. You're friends with Mikey, you always have been, you could call him now if you wanted."

"No." Pete stands and starts to pace, trying to put jumbled feelings into words. "This is different."

"How?" Patrick demands. "Because you've seen a five dollar bill? You see them everyday and it doesn't mean anything."

"Not like this." Pete keeps pacing, thinking back over the last few days. "Yesterday I saw the video for _I'm Not Okay_. It was playing on some foreign music channel in the middle of the night."

"So? That video gets played all the time."

Pete stops pacing, standing perfectly still as he looks at Patrick. "So what if it means something?"

Patrick rubs at his face, says, "All it means is you're self-sabotaging again. If you don't want to go forward with Kyle don't, but stop looking for excuses to go back."

Arms crossed over his chest Pete watches as the five dollar bill blows away. No matter what Patrick says, he knows it does mean something.

~*~*~*~

Frank's sprawled on the sofa, an open magazine on his stomach, his head against a cushion as he watches Mikey and asks, "Wouldn't it be easier to call and ask him for one? The fucker's probably got closets stuffed with Clan merch."

"He hasn't got the shirt I want," Mikey says, and selects the next EBay listing for Clandestine apparel. He's having no luck, all the shirts he's seen are the wrong design, but he can't seem to stop clicking, one link after another, always with that faint hope that this time it'll be the one.

"Fuck, no." Frank makes a pained sound and swings himself upright, the magazine falling to the floor. "Tell me you're not looking for _the_ shirt. The one you talked about for-fucking-ever."

Mikey rubs at his eyes and pushes away his laptop. "I didn't talk about it forever."

"Yeah, you did." Frank sits on the edge of the sofa and points at Mikey. "And Gerard did too, it's all we heard for weeks, fucking fate, you moping and Gerard wanting to beat Pete up. Fuck that shit, why look for it now?"

Mikey considers his reply, because Frank's not Gerard, he'll want more than vague feelings. "Because I need closure, if I can't find it that's it. We're done."

"And you weren't done before?"

"I thought I was," Mikey says, and thinks of a carefully crafted friendship, green tea Kit Kats and phone-calls to Pete. "But no."

"You're playing with fire," Frank warns. "If you do ever find it you could lose everything you have."

Mikey pulls his laptop back toward him, says, "I know."

~*~*~*~

Unclipping Hemmy's leash, Pete drapes it over the back of a chair and checks that the water bowls are full. For a moment he watches Hemmy drink, water dripping from his muzzle onto the mat. When he's sure he's not going to drain the bowl Pete leaves him to it, kicking off his sneakers and heading for the den. He finds Kyle sitting in front of the coffee table, tour related print outs spread in front and around him.

"Hey," Kyle says, and smiles at Pete. "You've been a while."

Stepping over stacks of paper Pete sits on the sofa, his legs curled up and toes pushed into the soft cushions. "I drove to the dog park next to my old place." Pete prefers it there, where there are dogs and owners he recognizes and the small coffee kiosk close by, one where the staff greet with a smile and no one cares who he is. It takes longer to drive there, but it's a place where Pete feels relaxed, one of the few lately.

"Right." Already Kyle's attention is back on the print outs and Pete sits in silence, listening to the rustle of papers and the clicking of Hemmy's claws in the kitchen. They should be calming sounds but Pete's mind is racing, and he jumps when Kyle suddenly turns. "You okay?"

"Just tired." It's a constant state for Pete lately, worse than it's been in months. He spends most nights wandering the house, a place that's supposed to be his home now but doesn't feel like it at all. Everything feels wrong, the furniture, decorations, even the air that he breathes. It sticks in Pete's throat and he spends hours sitting alone in the dark, his only company his laptop and phone. Tucking up his knees, Pete rests his feet against Kyle's back. "I need to get away for a while. Tomorrow, after you've left."

Kyle frowns. "You're going on tour soon. Isn't that enough getting away?"

"It's a different kind of getting away," Pete says, and folds himself forward so he can wrap his arms around Kyle. "I need to get away for me. From me."

Kyle curls his fingers around Pete's ankle. "As long as it helps."

"It should," Pete says, and can only hope that it's true.

~~~~

"You're insane." Patrick pushes his glasses back with one finger and adds, "You're living in crazyland and you can't even see it."

Pete shakes his head, not because he disagrees with Patrick, just that he _knows_ the whole situation is insane. "I keep seeing him everywhere. On the TV, on the radio, I was buying coffee yesterday and the girl in front was wearing a My Chem hoodie."

Patrick pushes himself away from Pete's car. "So call him. Email him. Do anything but fly off to chase memories."

Pete gets out of the car and leans back against the door. He's exhausted and confused and all he can think of is the world is sending a clear message, one that Pete can't ignore. "I have to know, Patrick. If that means going to L.A. and hoping fate brings Mikey to me, that's what I'll do."

"You don't even believe in fate, not any more," Patrick says and takes a step closer. "Everything you've achieved you've done through hard work and determination. Fate's got nothing to do with it. If you want to see Mikey, go to his house, he'll give you his new address."

Pete wishes it was that easy, but it's not. Fate ended their relationship and it's fate that's in control right now. "I can't do it that way. He has to come to me."

"Fine," Patrick says finally, and pushes Pete away from the door. "But I'm driving to the airport, and I'll need to pack a bag."

"You're coming with me?" Pete springs forward and wraps his arms tightly around Patrick. "Thank you."

"God forbid I let you live in crazyland alone," Patrick mutters, and holds on to Pete for a long time.

~*~*~*~

Arms full of bags of chips, Mikey pushes open the door with a bump of his hip and goes outside onto the porch. It's crowded, Gerard, Frank and Ray sitting on the porch swing while Bob and Brian are sitting on the ground, their backs against the railing. Dropping the chips Mikey sits in the space between Brian and Bob, still unsure why everyone suddenly turned up at his house.

"Nice hosting skills," Bob says and grabs one of the bags. "Where's the dip?"

"In the kitchen," Mikey says easily, taking a bag for himself. "Get off your ass if you want it."

Bob opens his chips and eats a handful then says, "Jason would bring the dip."

"Jason's busy being a corporate drone," Mikey says. "So suck it up and deal."

Bob eats another chip, biting down with a crunch. "It's too hot to move."

"Then you're shit out of luck." Mikey leans back, trying to get comfortable.

"I've made a list," Ray says, and Mikey sees that he's got a notebook on his lap and a pen tucked in his hair. "It's got all the thrift shops here and in Chicago in case Pete gave it away on his home turf. If we strike out there I'll reassess."

Mikey sits upright and cranes his head so he can see the list -- the very long list. "What? Why would you do that?"

"To find the shirt, of course," Ray says, as if Mikey's said something particularly stupid. "I've crossed off the ones you've already checked with Gerard."

"I don't, why..." Mikey trails off. It's not like he minds Ray knowing he's looking for the shirt, it's just -- he never expected Ray would even care about him finding it, never mind make a list.

"Fate's bullshit, you make your own choices in life, it's got nothing to do with fate," Brian says and reaches out to snatch some chips out of Bob's open bag.

"I had my fill of fate back at Warped." Bob swats at Brian's hand and turns to look at Mikey. "You know the chances are you'll never find that shirt? It's probably a rag by now."

"Or being used to rub one off on, some fan fantasizing about Pete," Frank says, laughing when Gerard elbows him in the side.

"There's always a chance," Gerard says and leans forward. "Things happen in life that we can't explain. If Mikey is meant to find it he will."

"And in the meantime we'll help." Ray holds up his list and points at the first name. "The first set is in L.A., it shouldn't take long to check them all out."

"Sure it won't," Bob says and above his sunglasses his brow is creased. "I'll just walk in and ask if five years ago some midget with big teeth handed in an ugly shirt. Nothing to it."

Mikey pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. "I thought you didn't believe in fate?"

"I don't," Bob replies simply. "But you do."

"Which is why we're going to help you look," Ray says and pulls the pen out of his hair. "The nearest thrift store is at Riverside Drive."

Frank jumps to his feet, making the swing sway wildly. "Then we'd better get going."

~*~*~*~*~

Pulling their hire car to a stop at a service station, Patrick keeps his hands resting on the steering wheel. "Tell me again why you don't just phone him."

Pete's got his feet up on the dashboard and he arches his back. "Because that's cheating. Fate has to bring him to me. Either Mikey himself or the five dollar bill.

Patrick uncurls his hands and takes off his hat, rubbing at the red line on his forehead "You still haven't told me what happens if you do find him. You're living with Kyle now. Your stuff's in his house."

"I know." Pete watches people walk into the Starbucks, always on the lookout for Mikey's awkward gait. "But all I can think about lately is Mikey. The time we spent together and how despite everything we're still friends. He's special, he's always been special."

Patrick pulls on his hat and turns sideways. "I get that, but you said he's with someone else. Even if you do find him you can't go in and break them up."

Nauseous, Pete swallows hard. "I wouldn't do that. I just need to know, Patrick. If I ran away from something that was meant to be."

"Another thing to beat yourself up about," Patrick says. "That's not healthy."

Pete knows that too, it's why he doesn't reply, just keeps watching as people exit the shop. Most are holding cups of coffee, men and women in groups and alone. But beyond them, like an overlain memory of the past all Pete sees is Mikey. His eyes dark and serious, his smile hidden behind his cup as he drinks.

Pete misses him. So much that it physically hurts.

~*~*~*~

Mikey's no stranger to thrift shops, but he's never visited so many at one time. Five shops down and all he can smell is old clothes as he methodically looks through a rack of shirts. Arriving at a particularly lurid blue Hawaiian shirt he's about to push it to one side when Gerard steps close.

"Wait, that looks awesome." Taking the shirt off the rail Gerard holds it in front of himself and poses in front of the mirror. "I'm buying this."

"You could make it work," Mikey says and looks over the center clothes racks to where Frank's trying to get Bob to try on a pink flowery hat. It's not going well, Bob looks more likely to throttle Frank than try on the hat; Ray's examining shelves of books, pretending he doesn't know them at all. At least Brian's still looking. He's talking to the woman behind the counter, where, if the last shops are any indication, he's interrogating her about stock records and bills of sale. Not that he's had much luck. So far none of the shops have even heard of Clandestine merch, never mind sold any.

"We'll keep looking." Gerard's pulled the shirt of the hanger and has it draped over his arm. He walks next to Mikey, standing so close that they're touching. "If it's out there we'll find it."

Mikey slumps a little, knowing Gerard will take his weight. "What if Bob's right and it's a rag? Or it's framed on someone's wall or shoved in a closet. It could be anywhere."

"That doesn't mean you give up." Gerard slips his arm around Mikey, ignoring the curious look of the one customer who hadn't already hurried from the shop. "You had the feeling you had to look, and you can't ignore that. If we ignored feelings we wouldn't have the band, and Brian wouldn't be our manager or Bob our drummer. You have to trust in yourself."

"I do, it's just." Frustrated, Mikey presses his hand against his keys that are jammed in his jeans pocket. "I don't even know what'll happen if I do find the shirt, I just know I need to."

Gerard squeezes Mikey, says, "Then you need to keep looking, don't look for complications before you need to."

Mikey smiles, the smallest curl of his lip. "I guess."

"You know," Gerard corrects, then stands upright and holds the Hawaiian shirt in the air. "Look at the sweet shirt I found."

Brian looks over, his expression turning to one of horror. "Oh hell no!"

His smile growing, Mikey turns back to looking through the shirts.

~*~*~*~

"Do you know how many Starbucks there are in the city?" Patrick demands. He's holding a carrying tray containing two coffees, a paper bag balanced between the cups and his chest. Carefully he hands them all to Pete though the open window. "There's at least twenty just in this area. This idea's insane, _you're_ insane."

Placing the paper bag on his knee, Pete takes a sip of too-hot coffee and glances up at the flyer that he's got tucked into the car's visor. He's tempted to touch again, re-read the words he's already memorized but resists when Patrick gets back into the car and takes his coffee. "It's not insane, it's fate."

Patrick stills the cup close to his mouth, says slowly, "Fate's a flyer that you found in a bathroom?"

Resistance crumbling, Pete pulls out the flyer, fingers against its grimy surface. "If the urinals weren't backed up I wouldn't have gone in the stalls and found this."

"Just so you know, the fact you picked that up remains disgusting," Patrick says, lowering his hand. "God knows what it's covered in."

Pete rubs his fingers together. "It's got that slightly grainy feel of dried piss."

Patrick opens his mouth then snaps it shut before saying, "You know what? I'm not saying anything. If you want to fondle piss-soaked Starbucks flyers go ahead."

"You're all heart," Pete says and then tucks the flyer away again before rubbing his hands on his jeans. "It has to mean something, Patrick. Why else would it be in there?"

"Fine, right, it means something." Patrick sighs softly. "But why this one?"

Pete considers a moment, but the thing is, as soon as they drove past he knew. "This one feels like Mikey's kind of Starbucks."

Patrick stares at Pete. "What does that even mean? It's a Starbucks, they're all the same."

"It's the surroundings that count." Pete tucks up his legs, his cup resting against his knees as he uses one hand to indicate around them. "We're close to the main shopping area but well away from any schools, the line is moving quickly meaning a speedy caffeine hit and most importantly, there's that."

Patrick looks where Pete is pointing. "A comic book store?"

Pete nods. "A Starbucks opposite a comic book store. This place practically has Mikey's name on it."

"If he's still into comics and if he's in L.A., he could be anywhere," Patrick says. He takes the bag from Pete and takes out a sandwich, setting it on the dash. "We'll stay as long as it takes to eat but then I'm going to book into a hotel. I'm not spending all night staking out coffee shops when you could pick up your phone and find out where he actually is."

"I told you..."

Pete doesn't get to finish before Patrick's interrupts. "I know, it's fate, I get that it's fate, but fate doesn't include me sitting in a car for hours on end. We're going to eat then we're leaving to get some sleep."

Pete grins. "You're hot when you're angry."

"Shut up, Pete." Patrick pulls back the plastic on his sandwich and pokes at the bread with his finger. "No distractions. We're eating then going."

Reluctantly Pete uncovers his own sandwich. He's not hungry in the slightest and despite feeling exhausted he knows there's no way he's going to sleep. There are too many thoughts buzzing in his head and an almost irresistible urge to keep on looking, but he won't. Not when Patrick's eyes are so shadowed and he's holding himself so stiff after such a long day.

They eat in silence until finally, no matter how small Pete makes his bites, they have to go. Throwing the garbage in the overflowing trashcan, Pete takes one last look around, flashing a grin at a young girl who's eating a muffin, chocolate smeared around her mouth and crumbs down the front of her yellow dress.

Finally they leave.

*~*~*~*~

Twelve thrift shops and they've found nothing -- strike that, Gerard's found a shirt and Ray has two books that he's carrying in a small plastic bag, but no Clandestine shirt with the inside tag signed.

If he'd been alone Mikey would have given up hours before, but there's something about being together that's made the looking fun. Listening as Frank harasses Bob and Brian tries to accidentally on purpose leave Gerard's shirt behind, but even that fun can only last so long. It's getting late now, the shops pulling down their shutters and Mikey checks the time as they head back to the cars.

"Who's going to drive me for coffee?" Mikey's closer to Ray's car but he's already moving toward Brian's before anyone replies.

"I could go for coffee," Gerard says. He looks at Mikey. "We could go..."

"...to that one on Saticoy. That's what I was thinking," Mikey finishes. "I haven't been for a while."

Brian pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car. "Coffee and comics, you'd better be putting out tonight."

Mikey gives Brian a long look. "I know Gerard won't mind but Jason might. I'll have to call him first."

Arms crossed on the roof of the car Brian says, "One day I'll teach you a lesson and take you up on that shit."

Mikey smiles slightly. "I'll look forward to it."

"Jesus fuck." Brian rests his forehead against his crossed arms. "Why do I bother?"

"Because you love me," Gerard says, grinning over at Brian.

"Yeah. I guess that's it," Brian says, his voice muffled by his arms.

"I should get home." Ray's standing between the two cars and looking at Frank and Bob. "You still want a ride?"

"Yeah," Bob says, and, in a deft move, anticipates Frank's rush to ride shotgun by grabbing him under the arms and depositing him back on the sidewalk.

After that it's less than a minute before Mikey's in the back of Brian's car, waving out of the window with one hand while pulling out his sidekick with the other. Checking his messages he sends some quick responses before scanning through twitter, amusing himself with the @replies, most of which are a combination of people professing love or saying he sucks.

"You'll drive yourself insane with that," Gerard says, and turns to the side so he can look over his shoulder at Mikey.

"They're funny." Mikey tilts the screen of his sidekick so Gerard can see. "This one says they'll die if I reply."

"Tell them you want proof of death first," Brian says, scowling as they creep forward in the traffic. "No death certificate, no reply."

Mikey leans back and stretches his legs along the seat. "How am I supposed to tell them that without replying?"

Gerard nods. "It's an impossible loop. You can't reply to say you won't reply without replying in the first place."

"It's a conundrum," Mikey says and then adds, "Pete hasn't posted." Mikey scrolls back to Pete's last tweet, concerned when he sees the date. "He hasn't for days."

"Didn't he just move in with that guy?" Gerard asks. "They're probably holed up having sex. You know how he throws himself into things."

Brian holds up a hand. "I know you're about to say something scarring about Pete and sex. Don't. I don't want to know."

"Shutting up now," Gerard says and then immediately twists himself around even further, the seat-belt digging into his neck. "He'll be fine."

"Yeah," Mikey says, and it's not that he thinks that Pete's actually in any danger, it's just weird to not see him post _somewhere_. "I'll send him a text, see what's up."

Brian looks over his shoulder. "Ask him about the shirt while you're at it. See if he actually donated the damn thing."

Mikey shakes his head. "Can't. That's like getting cheat codes online."

One hand on the wheel, Brian starts to slow even further when they approach an intersection. "No, it's you cutting through the bullshit."

Brian's right, Mikey knows that but he also knows asking Pete would result in airing old feelings and Mikey's not ready for that. This way he can look while keeping an emotional distance. Thumbs flying he sends a message to Pete. "I asked if things are okay."

"Tell me if he replies," Gerard says, his nose close to the window as they turn into the Starbucks parking lot and join the line for the drive thru.

"I will," Mikey promises and pushes up his hips so he can put away his phone, watching outside as they inch past a family, the young girl clutching a half-eaten muffin, her dress and face smeared with chocolate.

~*~*~*~

They've booked into one of the best hotels in the city, but Pete's paying no attention to the surroundings. The antsy feeling of before has abruptly drained away and as he stands at the window looking down at the sprawl of lights that signify the city, he knows the possibility of bumping into Mikey or coming across the note is minute. It's a hard conclusion, especially combined with painful comparisons, where Pete's realizing his relationship with Kyle is a pale imitation compared to the past.

"This is stupid." Turning away from the window, Pete throws himself on the bed next to Patrick, making him and his laptop bounce. "I need to stop chasing dreams, they never come to anything."

Patrick closes the lid of his laptop and sets it to one side. "That's not true. You've achieved plenty of dreams."

"Not this one." Pulling up his legs, Pete slumps to the side and leans against Patrick. "We were never meant to be more than friends. I need to remember that. Fuck fate."

"It's best that way," Patrick says. "You make your own choices in life. Having them pre-determined would suck."

Pete thinks about all the hardships he's lived through and the days of triumpth, both personal and with his band. It's a history that he's proud of and that pride has to extend to the future, where any choices he makes are his own. "Fate sucks."

"It does," Patrick agrees, and reaches out for the TV remote. "How about we celebrate that with bad TV and room-service?"

"I need to buy a charger," Pete says, glancing over at his phone. He feels lost without it, also stupid for leaving the charger behind when he fled Kyle's house, intent on getting to L.A.

"What you need is to stay here and eat," Patrick says and flicks through the channels, light from the TV flickering across his face. "Your phone can wait."

Pete reaches out for the room-service menu, says, "I guess."

~*~*~*~

"Wait! Stop!"

Coffee splatters against the window as Gerard suddenly throws up his hand. Thankfully the cup is mostly empty and only a few stray droplets dribble down the glass. That doesn't stop Brian's glare.

"Tell me you've a good reason for that. A duckling in the road, a whole family of fucking ducklings."

Gerard rubs at the splatters with his sleeve. "I don't think ducklings hang out around here, but we need to go left. To _Dylan's Dive_."

Mikey sits forward in his seat, the bagged piles of comics next to him sliding to the side. "You think they'd have it?"

"They've got everything else," Gerard says and starts giving directions. "Take the next left, second right then, it's about two blocks down."

Brian indicates to go left. "Tell me it's a diner. I'm fucking starving."

Gerard shakes his head. "Sorry, no. It's a memorabilia place, Mikey got Boba Fett there."

"I guess we can go there," Brian says grudgingly, making no mention of how he's been following Gerard's directions all along. "Then back home."

"Promise," Gerard says as Mikey sends a quick text to Jason.

A few minutes then Brian says, "Tell me when to stop," and both Gerard and Mikey are looking out of the side windows. Except _Dylan's Dive_ isn't there. Its space has been taken by a hardware store, a display of mailboxes prominent in the window.

Gerard's face falls as he looks back at Mikey. "I could have got the directions wrong. It could be further along."

"No," Mikey says, cold spreading from the pit of his stomach. He's got his hands curled up, his knuckles against the car door as he looks at the mailboxes with their uniform flags and boring colors. "It's a sign. That's it."

"What? No." Gerard turns completely in his seat, his elbow wedged under the headrest. "You can't give up. You haven't been looking that long."

"I've been looking enough." Mikey sits back, knowing that this is the end. That all fate has shown him is he does belong with Jason. "I'm with Jason now, we've got the house."

"I know," Gerard says, and then looks over at Brian before adding. "But is that enough, are you happy?"

"I'm happy," Mikey says softly, but even as he says it, he's beginning to realize that may not be enough.

~*~*~*~

The sun's barely rising when Pete climbs out of bed. He's managed a few hours sleep but has spent most of the night sitting propped against the headboard, his laptop open on his knee as he searches Google for pictures of Mikey. It's Pete's form of painful goodbye and his eyes burn as he tip-toes around the room getting dressed. Patrick's still asleep, his face pushed into his pillow and the blankets pulled up to his shoulders. Sleeping always makes him look young and defenseless and Pete heart seems to grow two sizes in his chest as he writes a note saying he's gone for coffee.

Dropping it on his bed Pete shoves his feet in his sneakers and runs his hands through his hair before leaving the room. This early there's no one around and Pete hurries along the corridor, his hands held tight against his body as he resists the urge to turn every notice hanging on the room doors. Deciding against the elevator he takes the stairs, his fingers brushing against the railing as he hurries down. It feels good to be moving and Pete's planning on getting coffee, maybe bring back oven warm pastries to Patrick as a form of apology for the wasted trip.

Pete's half way through the lobby when he sees Kyle. He's standing at the reception desk, arguing with the woman who's on duty.

Pete comes to a stop and turns. "Kyle?"

"Pete!" Kyle grins and then looks back at the woman. "Told you I knew him."

"What are you doing here?" Pete's confused; last he knew, Kyle was happy on tour. He'd sent Pete reviews from the first show, links that came complete with caps lock words and explanations of how the band were being seen as fresh and unpretentious. Seeing him here is weird, like Kyle's been materialized out of thin air.

Kyle gathers Pete in a fierce hug, holding him close. "I wanted to see you. I had to leave so suddenly."

Pete smiles against Kyle's chest, pleased that he's taken the time to see him especially. "Patrick's still sleeping. Want to buy me breakfast?"

"That sounds perfect." Kyle kisses the top of Pete's head and they separate, heading for the revolving doors. Together they squash into one of the small compartments, going around twice just because and Pete's laughing when they finally step outside. For a moment he stands on top of the marble steps. Already it's a beautiful morning, the sun lighting everything with gold and he feels refreshed, the past pushed back by spending time with someone who loves him.

"I missed you."

"Missed you, too," Kyle says, his hand on the small of Pete's back. "We've been so busy, tours take so much planning and all of the interviews are insane. Did I tell you about the show? The kids were really into us. It was raw and real, like music's supposed to be."

Pete tells himself Kyle didn't mean the barb and reminds himself of when he was just starting out, how everything felt amazing and like he could take over the world. "You told me. Did you get the flyer issues sorted?"

Kyle nods. "Last night, I came into the city and met with the designer."

Pete slows and some of the lightness he was feeling dims. "You came into the city to meet the designer?"

"And to see you," Kyle says, and while he sounds sincere he's already taking a folded flyer out of his pocket. He smoothes it out and holds it up. "He changed the font and text size. They look awesome now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Pete agrees, and starts to walk again.

They head for a diner close to the hotel. Within a block Kyle's answered four phone calls and Pete gets that touring is hectic -- he knows that -- but he feels abandoned, even with Kyle right here. It's a feeling that gets worse when Kyle gets another call. Taking his cell out of his pocket he holds up his hand and steps away from Pete, obviously happy when he begins to talk. Left alone Pete sits on a nearby bench and waits.

"Sorry." Ten minutes later and Kyle's finally finished the call. Still laughing he puts away his cell and walks over to Pete. "That was Johnny, he woke up in the bathtub. I told him not to hit the mini bar in the room."

Pete rubs at his arms, chilled after sitting so long. "Drummer Johnny? He's in the city too?"

"He came to keep me company," Kyle says and glances at his watch. "They need me so I need to get back soon, we'll have to cut breakfast short."

Pete smiles, the one he keeps for paparazzi and fans on the days when everything feels wrong. "Just go, we'll catch up later."

"You're sure?" Kyle asks, but already he's moving away and reaching for his cell. "I'll call you."

"Okay," Pete says, and as he watches Kyle walk away he knows this is the beginning of another end.

~*~*~*~

"Robert called yesterday. He said Piglet's doghouse is against community rules." Jason's sitting on the bed tugging on his sock and he looks up when Mikey comes back into the room. "We need to change it to something smaller."

Mikey starts to fasten the buttons of his shirt. "I like the one we've got and it's one of the colors they allow."

Jason smiles slightly. "I don't think they expected anyone to have white ghosts on a dog house."

"They're ghouls," Mikey says, making sure his shirt is tucked neatly into his pants. "There's nothing against ghouls in the rule book."

"We still need to change it." Jason stands in front of Mikey and straightens his collar. "I'll have to go soon. I've got that meeting with the investors."

Mikey remembers, the same way he remembers Jason's contentment when he finds him chatting to their neighbors over the fence or drinking coffee with Sara or cutting the lawn on a sunny Sunday morning, ensuring the grass is at the perfect specified length. Jason's flourishing in this environment while Mikey himself feels smothered. It's not a new feeling but it's one he's finally admitting to himself, the search for Pete's shirt reminding him of times he didn't have to worry about the colour of his front door or that he made too much noise driving home in the middle of the night.

"Mikey?" Jason's voice is pitched low, concerned, and Mikey realizes he's been talking for a while with no answer. "Mikey, are you okay?"

Mikey attempts a smile. "I'm fine."

Jason's still holding Mikey's collar and he slides down his hands until they're against Mikey's shoulders. They stand close, neither speaking and then, finally, Jason says, "We need to talk."

"We can talk later, you'll be late," Mikey says, and he doesn't want the kind of conversation that makes Jason sound so flat and defeated.

"Work can wait." Jason lets his hands drop and takes hold of Mikey's hands. Walking backwards he gently tows him to the bed and then sits, Mikey at his side. "You're not happy here."

It's not what Mikey expected him to say, except in that way that he did, because Jason gets Mikey, he always has. From the day they met at Starbucks and ended up sharing a table to now, when he's looking at Mikey with an expression that's nothing but love. It's why Mikey doesn't lie. "This isn't me."

"It's never been you," Jason says, and he clutches Mikey's hands a little tighter. "But it's me and I know you tried to like it here because of that." Jason swallows hard. "I love you but someone has to say it, we're not going to work. Not long term."

Mikey's throat is tight, because he knows, he'd known the minute he started to seriously look for Pete's shirt. It doesn't mean he's giving up without trying. "We could get a house somewhere else. Somewhere that suits us both."

"Mikey, don't," Jason says. "Let me love you enough to let you go."

"And if I don't want to?"

For a moment Jason considers. "Then look me in the eye and tell me you're sure we'll be happy together long term. Not love, happiness."

Mikey opens his mouth, wanting to say the words -- but can't. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Jason stands then, and their fingers slip apart. "Finish getting ready, we'll sort out details later but we've a breakfast waiting to be eaten."

"You still want to eat?"

"Pancakes and syrup, of course I do," Jason jokes, then his smile fades to something more serious. "I love you Mikey Way and we're going to go and have one last morning. But first, I have something for you."

Still reeling from the conversation all Mikey can do is sit and watch as Jason picks up a bag that's lying next to the dresser. Taking out a gift wrapped package he hands it to Mikey. "I saw it advertised on Craig's List and knew you'd like it."

The paper crinkles under Mikey's fingers as he tries to guess what's inside the soft parcel. He rips at a corner, tearing at the paper until the contents are revealed.

A shirt. A Clandestine shirt. The one with the tag signed by Pete inside.

~*~*~*~

"Say the word and I'll beat him up." It's mid morning and the brim of Patrick's hat is casting a shadow over his face, his eyes bright as he looks at Pete.

Pete forces a smile. "You need your hands for playing, and he's not worth it."

"He's an asshole," Patrick says, anger barely hidden beneath his level tone. "I should put out the word, make sure he doesn't work in the business again."

There's a moment when Pete should make a comment about Patrick being hot when he's angry. It's what he always does, taking refuge in the flippant, but today he's too tired and he scuffs his foot against the pebbled ground. "I need to get my stuff from Kyle's, my dog, everything."

"We'll sort that out," Patrick says and squeezes Pete's knee before standing. "Food first, though. Want a pretzel?"

About to refuse, Pete reconsiders when his stomach growls. "Pretzels for breakfast, you're living the high life."

"Yeah well, _someone_ woke me up and then spent ten minutes breathing down the phone."

"You bring out the pervert in me," Pete says and pushes his hands deep into his hoodie pocket. "I was going to bring you pastries. Before, well, before."

"Fucking asshole bastard." Patrick's hands are curled into fists and Pete's glad that Kyle's nowhere around. "I'd like to stuff his so-called unpretentious band up his ass."

Despite his pleasure at Patrick's anger on his behalf, Pete has to defend Kyle a little. "You know he didn't cheat or anything."

"He didn't value you," Patrick says, his gaze intent on Pete. "That's enough."

For the first time in hours Pete's smile is genuine and his every instinct is to jump up, grab onto Patrick and hold on. So he does. "Thank you."

Awkwardly, Patrick pats Pete's back. "It's only a pretzel."

Pete rests his head against Patrick's shoulder, says, "I know."

The hug doesn't last long. As much as Pete wants to cling and not let go, they are in public. With a last squeeze he pulls back, reaching up to straighten Patrick's hat. "Pretzels then back to the hotel to pack."

Together they walk to the pretzel stall that's just outside the gates to the park. There's only a few people in line and it isn't long before Patrick's ordering two giant pretzels which the stall owner hands over to Pete as Patrick pulls out his wallet. Taking a bite of warm dough, Pete chews, watching as Patrick counts out his money and hands over the bills. Quickly checking through them the vendor jumps when Pete suddenly yells.

"Stop!" The pretzels fall to the floor as Pete jump forward, his stomach pressed against the hard edge of the stall. He grabs for the money, specifically for the five dollar bill with the writing on the side. Pete can see it, blocked words crumpled between the vendor's fingers. "I need that. The five dollars. Please."

Eyes wide, the vendor keeps hold and pushes at Pete. "Get back or I'll call the police."

"No. Wait." Reluctantly, Pete lets go and pulls out his own wallet, taking out a hundred. "I'll swap you. This for that. Please."

"You're insane," the vendor says, but he snatches the hundred before dropping the five on top of the stall. "Go, get away from here."

Pete grabs for the five and even though he knew, had recognized the words as soon as he caught a glimpse, having the note in his hand leaves him shell-shocked.

"He's right, you are insane," Patrick says, his hand tight around Pete's arm as he pulls him away. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

For a few steps Pete stumbles forward, then he opens his hand, displaying the bill. "It's the one. Mikey's five dollar bill. The one I wrote on."

At first Patrick looks dubious, but then he takes the note from Pete, examining the name. It's faded now, more grey than black but recognizably Mikey's. "It really is. Fuck."

"I know." Pete pushes his hand through his hair. He feels exhilarated, shocked, his thoughts speeding through his head and above it all is a constant of _Mikey_.

"What are you going to do?" Patrick asks, and he hands back the note. "This doesn't change anything. Not really."

Pete shakes his head. "Everything's changed." Frozen in place, people walking past on either side, Pete thinks what to do. About lost opportunities, fears and taking a chance. It's something Pete's always been good at, for business matters anyway, the personal is different and Pete knows it's finally time to jump feet first, but only after one last test. He looks behind him and starts to walk backwards. "Call Mikey. Tell him... tell him I'm here, sunrise and first kisses."

"You don't even know he's in L.A.," Patrick says, already taking out his phone.

Pete starts to run and yells over his shoulder. "I'll wait."

 

~*~*~*~

"What if I'm making a mistake?" Mikey's wrapped in a blanket, camped out in the corner of Brian and Gerard's couch. He's been there for a few hours now, Bunny sprawled across his knee, Piglet and Winston at his feet. After the flurry of activity of packing his belongings and stowing them in the spare room, it's all he has to do. That and think.

"If you've made a mistake we'll be here to support you," Gerard says. He's on the other end of the couch, his feet shoved under the blanket and resting against Mikey's leg. "But I don't think you have."

Gerard sounds sure, and Mikey looks at him in surprise. "I thought you liked Jason?"

"I did, I do." Gerard curls his toes, digging them into Mikey's thigh. "It couldn't have been easy for him. Our lifestyle and your thing with Pete."

"I never had a thing with Pete," Mikey protests. "Not when I was with Jason."

"Not that kind of thing." Gerard looks at Mikey through the hair that's fallen in front of his eyes. "A lot of people aren't friends with their exes."

Which is something Mikey doesn't get. He's friends with most of his, from the ones he speaks to occasionally to the ones he sees often, like Pete. Someone that's always been there, and someone Mikey could never imagine losing completely. "Pete's special."

Gerard smiles then, says, "See, that's why I know you haven't made a mistake. It's always been Pete for you, even when you pushed those feelings aside. The whole haunting and shirt thing was a means to an end. It's time to man up now."

"I guess I should call him," Mikey says, about to reach for his phone. He drops his hand when Bob walks into the room, Brian trailing behind him.

Brian grins, looking gleefully at Bob. "Bob's got a message."

Gerard looks at his watch. "We're not late for the studio."

"Patrick called," Bob says, ignoring Gerard completely. "Pete sent Mikey a message."

"Patrick called you to give me a message from Pete?" Mikey says, trying to make sense of what Bob's saying. "Why didn't he call me?" Suddenly, worry strikes as Mikey thinks about Pete's unusual silence online. "Is Pete okay? Do I need to get to the hospital?"

"He's fine," Bob says, sounding long-suffering. "He's at that park near Santa Monica Boulevard and says sunrise and first kisses."

Gerard pushes off the blanket and swings his legs to the floor. "That's it?"

Bob crosses his arms over his chest. "That's it, that's all I was told to pass on. That's all I _want_ to pass on."

"That's not much of a message," Gerard says, but Mikey already suspects he knows Pete's location. He remembers the sting of sunburn on his cheeks, the sun blazing red and water flowing under their feet, Pete fidgeting before gathering courage and moving in for a first kiss.

"A bridge." Mikey stands and pushes the blanket to one side. "He's on a bridge in the park. I need to go."

Gerard stands too. "I'll drive you."

Distracted, Mikey nods and runs for the door.

~*~*~*~

Feet dangling close to the bed of flowers, Pete rests his arms on the wooden railings of the bridge. It's a small bridge, more ornamental than practical but it reminds him of the bridge where he and Mikey first kissed. It's also in a mostly deserted area of the park, an area he found after walking away from Kyle this morning. In the hour that Pete's been here he's only been passed by one other person. Not that Pete blames people for keeping away, he would too if he'd seen someone lingering in the same place for so long.

Frequently he thinks about going to find a phone. It would be so easy to call Mikey but he knows he can't. This is the last test because even if fate did bring the five dollar bill to Pete, the last step has to be Mikey's alone.

Head resting on his arms, Pete keeps waiting.

~*~*~*~

Mikey pulls down the visor mirror and checks his hair again. He looks so different since the time he was with Pete, older and having to carry fresh fears. But Pete knows all that, has seen Mikey through multiple hair styles and painful days. Still, Mikey can't resist looking.

"You look fine." Gerard reaches across the car and flips the visor back up. "Better than fine."

Nervous, Mikey bites at his lip. "I don't even know why he wants to see me. He could be telling me anything."

"It's something good, Mikey," Gerard says. "Otherwise he'd have picked up his phone or emailed."

It's true, Mikey knows that but he still feels cold inside, that he's going to allow himself to want something he still can't have.

"It better be something important," Bob says, and then adds gruffly. "And if he hurts you again I'm going to kick his fucking ass."

"Me too," Brian says.

In the silence after that Gerard looks over at Mikey. "I'll write a song about insensitive bastards that play with your heart. It'll be fucking epic. Then I'll kick his ass."

"I'll hold you to that," Mikey says, and then settles back in his seat, trying to keep still as they creep along in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

~*~*~*~

Hours pass and Pete doesn't move from his spot on the bridge.

Waiting. Always waiting.

~*~*~*~

Gerard parks, says, "Call me, okay?"

"I will," Mikey promises, walking away from the car. Gerard's parked close to the gates of the park and Mikey's being passed by joggers taking advantage of the early evening sunshine. It's turning the leaves of the trees golden, the ground decorated with dappled shadows but he's too knotted up inside to enjoy the surroundings. Before he walks inside he looks back and sees that Gerard, Bob and Brian are all watching. When they see Mikey hesitate, Gerard opens the window.

"The shirt came to you for a reason, Mikey."

Mikey's wearing Pete's shirt and he turns over the hem, looking at the signature. It's tiny, almost illegible but it's enough to get Mikey moving, walking through the iron gates without looking back again. Inside he looks around at the paths that branch off in different directions and for a moment Mikey's unsure, until he sees the spent firecracker, and knows exactly which way to go.

Winding his way under trees that form a natural tunnel, Mikey passes a family, the mom and dad chasing after a giggling toddler, a young couple strolling hand-in-hand, a woman walking five dogs, but no bridge, no Pete.

Mikey keeps going, takes a left when the pathway branches again, pulled that way when he sees a bulldog chase a ball, its owner following behind. The further Mikey walks the better he feels, the heaviness inside him lightening with the conviction he's doing the right thing. Then, finally, when he's left the majority of people behind he turns a corner and sees an ornamental bridge spanning a flowerbed, but more importantly, he sees Pete.

Pete's sitting with his head down, his shoulders slumped as he leans against the railings, as if they're the only things holding him upright. For a moment all Mikey can do is stare, willing Pete to look up.

He does.

"Mikey?" Pete clambers to his feet, staring at Mikey as if he can't believe he's there. "You came."

"I always do when you ask." Mikey starts to walk forward again, slowly, despite wanting to run forward. He moves from the path onto the boards of the bridge. "You wanted to see me."

Pete nods and he's close enough to touch, but neither do, keeping the space between them. "I broke up with Kyle."

Mikey takes another step forward. "It must be going around."

Pete's expression flickers, emotion leaking through. "You broke up, too?"

Mikey nods. "Yeah." He swallows, needing to know. "What do you want, Pete?"

"You," Pete says. "I want you."

"Thank fucking God." Mikey closes the gap between them, pulling Pete into a fierce hug. Holds onto him and says, "Don't you dare send me away again."

"I won't." Pete's hands are against Mikey's back, steadying as he reaches up for a kiss. It's a kiss that feels new, Pete's lips are cold, his tongue warm as he brushes it against Mikey's, but it's also a kiss that feels _right_, like they're reclaiming something that was destined.

Like finally it's summer.

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